This exhibition, this display, this intervention, could only really be seen at its best by night, or rather in the twilight, in what the cinematographer Sven Nykvist calls “the magic hour”, after the sun has gone down and before it is fully black. Thus we are given light back to us, subtly, just when we feel we no longer need it, when it has passed psychologically, and in this mysterious re-emergence of radiance (how can we not talk about the soul?) we are caught, not as viewers of art but as casual observers of ourselves in the theatre of the street.The act of culture is taken out of the gallery and let fall into the street, the passageway of the 19th century flaneur, it spills, it tumbles, it is light, so light we cannot pick it up, analyse it further. What matters is that we are illuminated, shown again the IIluminations of Benjamin, the culture of the first street electricity, those fresh cities (oh the ache of nostalgic logic) of modernity.

Barker-Mill has abolished the banality of technology and suggests instead that an unphysical,
ungraspable beauty could be as complex and rewarding as the vast ambitions of the digital age. This is not design, nor science, nor art, this is the first brief crack in the solid night of doubt, that doubt bred by technophobia, the collapse of art, the loneliness of theory.